Can I Keep It?

Mona's Creole Cuisine

This year, we celebrated Mona's Creole Cuisine for the Mona Lisa and Moon Pie Krewe parade in Slidell.  I cheated a bit and recycled last year's frog outfits.  We went as frog legs.  I stitched together a couple of pairs of legs for us to carry.  I wish I could have found a wheel chair to push us around in, but alas, that didn't pan out. Charlotte decorated a stroller for us that had a huge plate, knife and fork.  And a ginormous fly for us to eat!

I wasn't the only cheater. Charlotte's son Lowry, repackaged his nutria costume as nutria stew.

He had a giant pot around him for the walk painted with flames.

Charlotte's nephew, Christopher, is a chef.  He runs Christopher's on Cary across the street from the Arcade where we have the Red Beans and Rice Ball after.  His costume, as well as his parents' (Brenda and John) costumes, were a given.

Brenda's Moon Pie cart was tarted up like a dining table.

And Charlotte was a fabulous blue crab.

Charlotte's friends, Addy and Amy went as Wild Rice.

While Amy's dad travelled on his Hov-a-round as a crawfish.

The back of his chair was made up like the shell of the crustacean.  Really cute!

This was the Cereal Killers Krewe.

Of course, they were all properly outfitted as the cartoon characters from the box illustrations.  There was even a Capt'n Crunch, but we failed to bring batteries for the camera.  Waa-wa.

Always dark when we begin, the Flabeaux light our way. Lowry's buds comprised the majority of the torch bearers.

Moon Pie! MOON Pie! MOOOOON PIIIEEEEE!!!  Is still ringing in my ears.

It poured rain all day.  Fifteen minutes before we lined up?  It vanished, leaving a cool night for tossing Moon Pies to the cheering crowds. 

Can't wait until next year!

 

Gratuitous Shot of Zali

Zali, ever the camera shy, has made it to the cover of the WinterArts Christmas card.  Playing the baby Jesus to our middle-aged Madonna and Magi.

Ansley is offering one of her hand batiked ostrich eggs.  Dennis is gifting the dog in the manger one of his hand turned bowls.  And Dorothy is delivering some of her fine jewelry. My halo is by Brian Blankenship.

I know.  It's completely ridiculous.

I poop on eet, Muhzer.

We tried to use Simone, but she is as camera shy as he is a camera hog.  All he has to hear is the click of a shutter or the flash of a light and Zali is posing.  Head over the shoulder. *click* Pouting. *click* Licking his lips.  *click*.

He's better than most models on the cover of Vogue.

But don't fret.  I won't leave you without a gratuitous shot of Simone.

You are welcome.

 

*WinterArts is open every day right through Christmas Eve at four o'clock.  Come by and get some hand-made gifts for your loved ones by some of Memphis' best local artists!*

 

*First photograph by Hud Andrews.  The other two are you know who.

Till Death Us Do Part

A couple of weeks ago we spent a glorius morning at my favorite cemetary witnessing two dear friends say their vows.

 

It was a gorgeous fall day.  The leaves sprinkled down on them like confetti during the ceremony.  Keith and Donna made a handsome couple.

My favorite part of the reception was when Colin, the ring bearer, burst into big alligator tears.  He asked his father, "Is Donna weally marwied?"  His heart broke at the reply.  He was inconsolable.  He just wanted to go home.

Turns out, he had given her a ring the night before. 

After a few Bloody Marys, we roamed the grounds in the sparkling sunshine.  Elmwood Cemetary is filled with interesting monuments from the Victorian Era. Great concrete towers of faux bois tower over somebody's family.

That's me beside it.  I am six feet tall and wearing heels.  The delicacy of the vine work is amazing.

Most of the prominent Memphis who built the city are buried there.  This one is a famous stain glass maker.

Everywhere you turn, there is something wonderous to see.

It really gave new meaning to "Till death us do part".

Questionable Offerings

Zoe has been hard at work in the office.  Filing reports.  Interviewing interns.  Making phone calls.

 
Okay, I may have caught her napping.  But she works so hard! 

Or, you know, not. 

Simone even went up to her to make sure she's still breathing.  To everyone's relief, she was.

Zoe's office is the Booze Hound Bar and Grill on our sun porch.  When we were vacationing in Rhode Island one year to see the mansions and visit Green Animals, we stayed at a B&B.  It was a lovely old gingerbread  Victorian.  I enjoyed strolling throughout the many parlors and hallways, beautifully restored with intricately layered William Morris wallpapers. In the corner of the elegant dining room was an exotic plant.  The likes of which I'd never seen.  At breakfast, I queried the hostess as to it's name and origin. 

*That's a Sharron Barrett Plant Friend sticking out of the top.  And a watering ball from my friend, Tatia Johnson. And a bunny cling from the side from my mother.  Hoarders?  No.  We're collectors.

She blushed.  The plant was the ill gotten gain of her husband on a trip to Monticello.  When he wasn't you know, writing constitutions or being President, Jefferson was a horticulturalist.  He collected plants all over the world and brought them back to his greenhouses in Virginia to propagate.  This was a snippet of one of those treasures.

She asked me if I'd like a piece to take home. And gave me a cutting as we left to catch our plane.  I guess she thought if I became a co-conspiritor that I wouldn't turn her over to authorities.

We just call it the Monticello plant.  Or the Jefferson plant.  It's easy to grow.  Likes bright indirect sunlight and water once a week.  No food.  It blooms several times a year.  And in the years we have had it, it has grown all the way from a four inch trimming to the floor.  It has started to snake its way under Zoe's, er, "desk". 

So we, in turn, have been cutting it off and giving it away to friends.

 

 

And this is also hanging from it.  Because it needs lots of things to amuse it.  That's the only downfall of the plant apparently.

Our friend, Keith Renard gave the Lollypop Baby to us years ago.  He's getting married this November.  last week, we gave them a potted piece of the Monticello plant. 

Stollen property from a landmark estate.  Isn't that what Martha Stuart says in her wedding magazine is the perfect gift for the bride to be?

 

On Giving

A couple of weeks ago, I made a gift for Evelyn to give to her today.  Her forty-ninth birthday.  However, when her husband called to deliver the sad news that she was near the end, I decided to send it to her daughter, Rachel.  It was a smile box. 

My friend, Nay Nay and I had kept one between our desks in the shop of the department store where we worked many years ago.  When one of us became grumpy, the other would reach in the box.  It was filled with pretty paper smiles we had cut out of magazines.  We'd stick to our lip gloss and continue to listen patiently until the fussbudget looked up and saw the fake smile stuck to our face.  It's kind of like banjo music, you could't help but laugh when you saw it.  Nay was aquainted with Ev.  She suggested I make her a smile box to get through her days.  I figured Rachel might need it more, given the way events had unfolded.

Last weekend, I spent in Richmond, saying good bye to a dear friend.  A sweet, happy spirit.  A kind and loving mother and wife, whose beautiful children faced the visitation with poise and dignity.  I told my mother on the phone the next day how well Ev's kids were handling it.  She replied, "Well, Evelyn was very mature and poised, you and Heather?  Not so much..."

My high school friend, Thommy was sweet enough to babysit me throughout the ordeal.  I met him at the funeral on Monday.  He steeled me to go in.  Inside, was filled with many of our dearest high school friends.  Evelyn was good at that.  She was a collector of people.  Once you got in her circle, it was hard to leave it.  You didn't want to.

We sat in a pew with the others from our class, when a hand touched my shoulder. I turned. My eyes clouded with tears.  It was the third part of our triangle!  Heather had come to say goodbye to Evelyn!

We had not seen each other for thirty years.

It was as if time never passed.  I think it was Evelyn's last gift to me.  To Heather.

She had been trying to get us together for years.  It just never worked out.  Until now.

Happy Birthday, Evelyn.  Thank you so much for your warmth, your humor, your talent, your friendship --your life.

 

Reunion

 

Me and Ev, October 15, 2010

*This great shot was taken by the talented Hud Andrews!*

Messages

When Evelyn first started on her brief journey with pancreatic cancer last May, my friend Nay Nay in Maryland, contacted me to tell me about the strangest thing that happened to her.  She set her GPS and followed the directions, only to wind up in the parking lot of Johns Hopkins on the other side of town from where she wanted to be.  On the same day that Evelyn started chemo.  She suggested I come up and we could go out on their boat, get pedicures.  Have some fun.  Evie nixed it, saying she had good days and bad.  So I dutifully told Nay about Ev's desire to get through the chemo and do it on the other side.

Several weeks ago, Hud was learning to text.  We were sitting on the couch, sending messages to one another. (Modern life!) All of the sudden, a small robot rabbit, Evelyn had given me for my birthday six years ago while I was in Richmond for a visit, jumped from the bookcase where it has resided all these years.  I picked it up and replaced it.  Fifteen minutes later, it threw itself to the floor again.  No other object (and there are MANY) had moved a silly milimeter.  I looked at Hud.  "Something's wrong with Ev," I said flatly.  I emailed her in the morning with queries of news.  She replied, "No, no news, it must have been a cosmic boom."

*That's her, the robot rabbit, snuggled between the legs of the doll

my Aunt Boo made me when I was born.*

The next day Evie was admitted to Johns Hopkins as an inpatient.  They explained the cancer was advancing at a phenominal rate.  She made the brave decision to stop treatment.  And go home.

Yesterday, I texted our mutual friend, Nancy, to see if she had any news.  I texted Evelyn that I loved her.  I texted Hud about making plans.

At 4:15 in the afternoon, I made mysef a glass of ice water, went to the sink to wash a spoon.  When I turned around, the refrigerator was dark.  No lights, sounds, dead.  I looked at the back of it for some reason.  It had come unplugged.  The cord lay on the floor for no apparent reason.  The refrigerator had not been moved for weeks.  I do not know how it happened.

Hud wasn't feeling well and went to bed at 8:00.  I was in the den, watching some stupid reality TV to make myself sleepy.  At 8:45, the robot bunny starts lighting up and moving its ears.  I tried to shut it off, but by 8:50, it was still talking.  Its cheeks burned bright red.  It said something unintelligible.  Which is odd in and of itself because you used to be able to understand its language.  I tried to shut it off.  Thought I had.  Put it back in the box and placed it on the bookshelf.  8:52: the right cheek lights up.  Then both cheeks.  It chirps.  By 8:54, I was sobbing.  I knew she was gone.  I told her goodbye.  The robot rabbit made a laughing sound.  And then it stopped.  It hasn't moved since. 

At 8:24 that same evening, a mutual friend had emailed to tell me that Evelyn had passed peacefully, surrounded by her family in the afternoon.  I didn't get it until the next day.

*That's the robot rabbit in the middle by the star Ev made me for my high school locker with pictures of her and a letter she wrote me from my scrapbook.*

As a child, I had an imaginary friend named Charlie.  I got my mother in trouble one day when I was two, by telling my father who had asked me about my day, "Charlie was here."  I had the uncanny ability to know when the phone was ringing before it actually made a sound.  Once, I told my mother, "Aren't you goinng to get that?"  She looked quizically at me and said, "But the phone isn't..."  BRRRINNNGGG!  And there is a story about me and a book that made a believer out of my grade school librarian.  But that's for another day.

Sometimes I wonder if Charlie's still out there.  Telling me things I need to know.  About my real friends when they can't tell me.

Evelyn would have been forty-nine in ten days.  I will miss her every day of the rest of my life.

On Going Home

No matter how many years have passed (thirty-two) since I moved away from Richmond,  I have always considered it to be my home.  Despite the fact that I have no dwelling to call my own there, it is the place that holds my heart.  I grew up with some of the nicest people I have ever met in all of my wanderings.  They are the family that resides in my spirit.

I was supposed to spend the day, furiously packing my bags for home.Tying up loose ends.  Making apologies to the dogs.  Instead, I am wandering around in circles like a dog looking for a good spot to lie down.

My oldest and dearest friend --the one who made my teen years fun and exciting --the one who forged gallantly through the wilderness of our youth to adulthood --is leaving for a place that won't allow her to come back.

I thought I could get to her in time, but her husband called me yesterday.  She is slipping away quicker than first thought.  Visitors (and the medications she has to take for pain) make her nervous.  Not wanting to add to her distress, I cancelled my trip.She needs to do this in her own brave way.

Going home will never be the same again.

Lighten Up

Time to lighten up.  Ease my flow.  Change direction.

Lots of things cause my lips to curl up on the edges. The small bits are what I take the most delight in.  Things like this.  Meet Estela:

 
Zooborns had this to say about her:

Estela the Spider Monkey is now on view in Melbourne Zoo's Primate Nursery with her grandmother Sonja. Estela was abandoned at birth by her mother Sunshine, so Primate Keepers stepped in to provide 24/7 care to pull the tiny newborn through since her birth on January 17th.

 

Primate Supervisor Jess McKelson explains "Because Sonja didn't feed Estela, the baby didn't get the crucial protection against infection that comes from the colostrum in mother's milk. So the baby has been very prone to infection, and we have needed to keep her under quarantine conditions at times. But we have still placed a major priority on getting her acquainted with her grandmother, Sonya, so she can learn the behaviours that are natural to a Spider Monkey."

 

Ahhhh.  Nothing like a tiny monkey making it through diversity to put a fresh spin on your old wounds.

Everybody send a wave of good vibrations to my sweet husband, Hud, today.  He really could use some of the blog love, too.  Thanks for all of it that you sent my way.  Like my friend, Virgina said," It's like finding an extra cookie when you think you've reached the end of the box!"

*Go to the Melbourne Zoo's site to see updated pictures of little Estela!

I have no idea why the link won't work above so clink it down here, 'k?*

Furry Friends Fun

In the adjacent property to Charlotte's home, we found wonderful new friends.  We were introduced to the Funky Chickens.

And not to be outdone in the world of the unusual, miniature horses! First we got Fancy...

 

Then we met Ranger, who was trying on his Mardi Gras ensemble.  He was going as a zebra.

The rest of his suit was hanging nearby.  His owner was trying to get him used to wearing the headgear.

 
 

Cappy's sweet dog, Yakima, followed us to the barn.  She's a gentle beauty, rescued from the swamps in the aftermath of Katrina.  Marsh grass is razor sharp.  She still bears the scars on her legs from the ordeal, but it didn't affect her spirit.

 

Did I mention that she was so sweet, you could catch the diabetes from merely being in her presence?

 
It's a good thing I love Charlotte, or Yaki would have been sitting on the backseat of the Mustang, waving goodbye as we left.  Hud would have been a willing conspirator, too.